If you’re like me, you don’t wait until noon for lunch. For some reason, I always have to eat at 11 if I’m at home. At work, I eat when they tell me to.
I’m back to my hard boiled eggs and fruit. Which is good, because they’re zero points and I’m up 26. I get like 22 for the whole day. 32 max for a blue dot.
Yes, I’m struggling. The Depo. Even after my five-minute rant about it over the phone, the nurse says to me: “We’ll keep your next injection appointment, just in case.”
“No need,” I say, “I’m not going to change my mind.”
They still wouldn’t cancel it.
They think they know. But they don’t know me. My mind is made up.
I’ve got a nice migraine starting in my eye, too. Also probably the Depo. And I’ve had my period for like eight days: a double period.
I know you totally wanted to hear that information about me, male readers. Once I complained to a guy I was dating in high school that I had PMS.
“I didn’t need to know that,” he said, curtly. He was an asshole, though. Sexist and homophobic, according to one of his classmates I bumped into years later. He also smoked and drank and I didn’t. Kissing him was not pleasant. Why in hell did I date this dude?!
So, now that I’m done lunch, it’s time to go back to my dresser clean out project. If I have time, I may root through my own drawers for more stuff I won’t wear anymore. We’ll see.